


Expectations

by thankyoufinnick (mildred_of_midgard)



Series: Mags-verse One Shots [3]
Category: Hunger Games Series - All Media Types, Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (Inattentive Type), Comfort Eating, Gen, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Parent-Child Relationship, Undiagnosed Disorder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-12
Updated: 2018-05-12
Packaged: 2019-05-05 10:07:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14616073
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/pseuds/thankyoufinnick
Summary: Delly's parents want her in the family business, but she's finding her niche in helping people. Post-rebellion.





	Expectations

**Author's Note:**

> I started this with grand ambitions of expanding it into a Delly/Peeta relationship study and tying it in with the Mags-verse, and I would still like to, but I haven't made any progress in a long time, so you might as well have this, in case that's all there is.
> 
> Departures from canon: Delly's an only child, and her parents survived the bombing of District Twelve.

_"As long as you're not causing any trouble."_

Those are the words Delly's heard all her life. If she's not going to follow in her parents' footsteps, they don't much care how she spends her time.

Perched on a stool in the pantry, polishing off the remains of a cold chicken pie, Delly peers out the window. Not quite dark yet. Plenty of time before she needs to leave. She looks over the shelves and picks out a corn muffin and a hunk of cheese, thankful for the abundant supply of food.

The Peacekeepers may be gone, and with them most of the market for boots and boot repair, but her parents are doing quite well making clothes from dawn to well past dusk. They're hard-working, resourceful, and wanted a hard-working, resourceful daughter. What they got was a dreamy butterfly. Everyone likes Delly, but no one counts on her.

She knows if she were in the studio, helping out instead of meandering about and aimlessly eating, they'd be happier, but they gave up on her when she was still in school. She's obedient enough about starting work, but her mind wanders. The next thing she knows, it's still not finished and someone's looking at her in disappointment.

Delly accepted that about herself a long time ago. It's not worth the effort of getting upset. She's got a pretty good life, all things considered. Her family's still alive, which is more than a lot of people can say. They've always made sure she's had enough to eat, which almost no one can say. And she's twenty-two, living at home, contributing nothing to the household, and they've never told her she had to shape up or move out. They just threw up their hands, stopped giving her chores, and told her to please herself.

Finishing the last bite of cheese, Delly peels a hard boiled egg and eats it, then another. Comfortable and full, she rests for a while, savoring the moment.

She's just starting to cut off a slice of ham to go with her next muffin, when she hears her mother's voice. "Delly? Your father and I wanted to talk to you."

That's unusual enough that Delly forgets all about the food. Turning around, she sees her mother standing uncertainly by the kitchen table, and her father behind her. Behind him, the kitchen window is dark, and the lamp's been lit. She has no idea what time it is or how much she's eaten.

Delly comes out of the pantry smiling at them. "What can I do for you?"

"Have a seat," her father invites. Both her parents look awkward.

She pulls out a chair and sits down at the table across from them, waiting to find out why they suddenly decided to stop working and talk to her.

"It's your birthday, Delly," her mother begins, "and I know we never really connected, but we just wanted to—I don't know."

"You're our daughter, no matter what," her father says firmly.

"Yes, exactly." Her mother looks relieved. "And I may not have any idea what to do with you, and you may not be doing anything to make us proud, but we could have had a lot worse daughters. You always have a place here, as long as you don't bring any shame on us."

"You're the best parents," Delly tells them, with real enthusiasm. "I want you to know I really appreciate the way you take care of me, even if I eat enough for three."

"That's an exaggeration," her father says sharply. "Isn't it? You're not taking food to anyone else, are you? You're not fat enough for three people."

"No, Dad, I would never steal from you, really," Delly promises patiently. "I get hungry, that's all. And yes, I was exaggerating."

"Well, I do wish you would eat a little less," her mother says for the hundredth time, "but as long as we have food and a roof, it's yours."

Her dad looks uncomfortable. "It's because of you we're alive, anyway."

"Really?" Delly looks at them in surprise.

Her mother pinches her lips. "Well, you were so bent on following that Hawthorne kid into the woods. I didn't trust that troublemaker any farther than I could throw him, but we sure weren't letting you wander off on your own. You can't even take care of yourself in a town. In the woods? You'd be dead in minutes."

Somehow, the thought that she helped her parents makes Delly feel unbelievably good. Good enough to get up and hug them, even though she hasn't done that since she was a little kid.

"Well, anyway." Her father clears his throat after she releases him. "We don't have much money to throw around, but we wanted to get you something for your birthday, something you don't usually get."

"We thought about making you a new outfit," her mother tells her, "but, well, we thought you'd appreciate a treat more. And you have plenty of clothes."

"So we went to the Mellark bakery." Bending over, her father passes her a small paper bag from under the table.

"Goodness knows you don't need any encouragement to eat more, but that boy can bake, I'll give him that."

Delly claps her hands in delight as she pulls out a fruitcake. She always walks past the bakery and sighs in pleasure at the display, even if no one would ever trust her with spending money. It's just nice to see all the tasty morsels.

The fruitcake may not be as pretty as the frosted cookies, but it looks delicious, and it's just the thing for eating while you walk. And so thoughtful.

Now she wants to hug them again, but even she thinks that's enough for one night. There are people you can hug twice in one conversation, and then there are her parents.

Who are now peering suspiciously at her. "That shirt looks a little tight," her mother says. "Stand up again, Delly."

Stalling for time, tugging at the bottom of her shirt to try to make it cover her midriff, Delly obeys as slowly as she can. All her clothes are tight, but she hasn't wanted to say anything. Partly because she doesn't want to put any more financial pressure on them than she already does, and partly because she's afraid they'll tell her the answer is to work more and eat less. She stands, tense, while they inspect her.

"It's fine," she tries telling them. "It's comfortable, and in such good shape! I won't need new clothes for a long time."

With a sigh, her mother ignores her and tugs at the waistband of her pants. It has no give to it. "Time to let out your seams, then. We saw this coming and made allowances."

Delly's relief is overpowering. That's her parents, always making allowances for her. "You're the best parents anyone could have. I wish I were a better daughter."

"You're not so bad," her mother says, again with that sigh. "I just wish you'd try."

Delly doesn't argue. Her parents can't imagine hard work not paying off. But she knows trying doesn't get her anywhere. So she just smiles and lets them take her measurements.

"There, we're done. We'll have all your outfits fixed up in the next couple days. You're not wandering around in public like we can't make decent clothing. It doesn't reflect well on our business."

"Thanks, Mom, thanks, Dad. You're the best, really." Picking up her fruitcake, Delly heads for the door.

"Where are you going?" her father asks, after a pause, like it only just occurred to him to ask his daughter about her life. "It's almost ten." 

Delly stops, her hand on the knob, and smiles.

"I'm going to Haymitch Abernathy's."

Her mother's eyes bug out. "Why on earth? He doesn't even get winnings any more, he's just living in squalor."

"That's why I go," Delly explains. "He doesn't have any family, and he needs someone to check on him. It can't be good for him to be alone all the time. I'm not bringing him any of our food, I promise. Just making sure he eats his own."

"Well, she's got a good heart," her father says under his breath, turning away.

"I'd rather she had a good work ethic, but it's her own time she's wasting." As Delly's opening the door, and her parents are heading back to work, suddenly something occurs to them.

"Delly!"

She freezes. This is more interaction than they've wanted in the last _year_. What now?

"You know what happens if you get pregnant, right?"

"I know, Mom," she assures her. "I have to get rid of it. Don't worry, I don't want a baby. I can't even take care of myself, remember?"

"All right. You just remember that. We'll take care of you, no one else."

On her way to Haymitch's house, Delly eats her fruitcake thoughtfully and thinks about what just happened. About them telling her she wasn't a total disappointment, and getting her a birthday cake. It feels...good, and a little weird. 

She doesn't know whether to hope it lasts. She liked the attention, of course. But if they start expecting things from her, they're going to be disappointed, and she doesn't want to put everyone through that again. Not those despairing conversations, sometimes bordering on arguments, she overheard when she was a kid.

_"I've tried everything to teach her responsibility. I don't know how to get through to her. I don't believe in beating children, even if I thought it would work. She's had teachers yell at her, for all the good it did them. She's willing enough if you stand over her and walk her through every step, but she doesn't seem to learn, and I can't be doing that all day, every day."_

_"We've done everything we can. If all she wants to do is sit around like a lump on a log, at least she's not hurting anything. We'll keep supporting her, what else can we do?"_

_"What's she going to do when we're not around?"_

_"If she doesn't outgrow it, maybe she'll get married. Then it'll be her husband's problem."_

_"If she can find a man willing to take care of her. She doesn't cook, she doesn't work, she's not picking up any skills, she's a slob..."_

_"But she has friends. Everyone likes her. And she's pretty enough. She'll find someone. And if not, well, not our problem once we're gone."_

Delly doesn't want to be anyone's problem. She just wants to sit and talk to people. People are nice, people are interesting, people like it when she smiles at them and stops to shoot the breeze. Even Haymitch once admitted, when he was drunk, that he'd probably start drinking earlier in the evening if he didn't have her visits to look forward to. And then, scowling, that he'd kick her out if she told him to stop.

But that's not Delly's style. She'll even fetch a bottle out of the cupboard for him if he asks. But she'll put food in front of him, too.

And here she is. The light flooding out of the front window tells her that he's woken up. Haymitch's schedule is unpredictable, but he sleeps more days than nights, which is why she waits until after sunset to come by. Stuffing the remains of her cake into her pocket, Delly opens the door and steps inside.

**Author's Note:**

> The resources to give Delly a diagnosis don't exist in her world, and so being misunderstood will feature prominently in her life, but per the tags, I envision her with ADHD, inattentive type. If I ever continue this story, the plan is for her to find work that suits her, as well as more meaningful relationships.


End file.
